Allmother
by NightFuryofGallifrey
Summary: The irony never failed to strike Frigga that the wife of the Allfather was unable to bear him children. Two-shot, focusing on Frigga, Queen of Asgard and Wife of Odin Allfather, and her undying desire for something that has always been denied her: Motherhood.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Don't own any characters within. I don't even own a copy of _Thor_._  
_

**A/N:** Hey everyone! Sorry it's been so long since posting anything. Life's been a bit crazy here. But I haven't stopped writing. :) A second part of this shall come soon, so watch for that!

* * *

**Allmother**

The irony never failed to strike Frigga that the wife of the Allfather was unable to bear him children.

After centuries of marriage, and centuries of trying, and centuries of no heir being produced, the King's young wife had begun to believe the whispered rumours. She pretended not to hear them, just as Odin did, but they were impossible to ignore, really.

She was barren.

She knew her husband tried to protect her from the whispers, the mocking, malicious voices. But still she heard them. They called her "Allmother", but it was with as much respect as a thinly veiled insult could hold.

Eventually, Frigga let the hope that she would someday be a mother go. She would not let the thoughts of others direct her path, she would not pity herself and she would certainly not stop living. She loved her husband, and knew he loved her in return.

That was all that mattered. 

* * *

When her time of the month did not come when expected, Frigga thought little of it. But a week after, when she found she had to drag herself out of bed though she normally rose to meet the sun, when every footfall seemed a struggle when she had never before been found with a loss of energy, and she was plagued by never ending fatigue and exhaustion, she started to wonder.

But it was not possible.

When she found her moods swinging as rapidly as the striking tail of a bilgesnipe, when nausea and vomiting the likes of she had never suffered before became a near constant every day, she finally consented to her concerned husband's repeated requests to see a healer.

He was worried she was ill, and Frigga was inclined to agree. Because the other possibility would never be presented to her.

That was why, when she received the healer's verdict, she nearly did not believe her.

Because Queen Frigga, mockingly called Allmother, could not possibly be with child.

But she was.

Odin nearly wept with joy when she gave him the news. All of Asgard rejoiced with him.

Frigga herself, could still not believe it.

It wasn't until she found she could no longer fit into her dresses comfortably that she even began to consider it.

When every symptom her mother had told her years ago on her marriage to the King began to plague her – headaches and lightheadedness, fatigue, far too many trips to the bath chamber, certain areas of her body constantly sore and aching – she began to believe it.

And then, when she looked down at herself, she could see the bare bulge, just beginning to show, beneath the silk of her dress.

She wept.

For she who had been called barren would be a mother. 

When a few months had passed, Frigga looked forward with great eagerness for the child growing within her to move enough for her to feel. When it did not happen, she did not worry. So far everything that had happened had come to be later for her than was considered "normal".

It was when she woke up one night, with a pain that was far too sharp and pronounced in her abdomen, that she gripped her sleeping husband's arm, whispering in fear that something was wrong.

The child was born that night.

But he was not living. 

Frigga thought she should have wept at the news, when the midwife placed her stillborn son in her arms. But all she could feel was a numbness, a shock that seized her and refused to let go.

Baldr was so small, so tiny, he did not even take up half of his grieving father's palm. He was not quite formed, for he had been born far too early. But he was a Prince of Asgard nonetheless, and he would be given a funeral proper for one.

Odin oversaw the ceremony that carried their son over the water, tears glinting in his eyes. All of Asgard wept with him.

Frigga herself, could not quite believe it. 

She watched with dull eyes as the ship that bore her infant son – who had never taken a breath of the sweet air after rain, never opened his eyes to see the bright colours of a blooming garden, never heard the low rumble of his father's voice – away from her. The flames that burned bright and high in the night seemed to her like they should have been celebratory fires, lit with joy for the birth of the child of the Allfather. They should not be a funeral pyre; the sorrowful orbs of light the grieving people released should be fireworks of festivity.

She remained on the dock long after the ship had fled from view, long after the people had dispersed. Odin remained ever faithful at her side, his strong arm around her in comfort.

Still she did not weep. 

It was not until she could fit back into her normal clothes, when her body began to feel normal once again did what had happened really break through to her.

She was not to be a mother.

She wept.

Harder than she had ever before, until she felt as though her heart would physically break with each shuddering, gasping sob that tore itself from her chest.

What had she done wrong? Had longing for a child been to much to hope for?

She could not stop.

For she who was to be mother was childless again.

Odin found her there, driven to her knees on the floor of their chambers. He said nothing as he knelt beside her, wrapping his shaking wife's body in his strong arms, holding her close to his chest.

She could feel his tears in her hair. 

* * *

The days turned to weeks, the weeks to months, and the months to years. Frigga had determined not to let Baldr's death cripple her, she had refused to stop living. Her heart still ached for her son, and sometimes, she would feel as though it would overwhelm her again. But she continued on the life she had, continued her roles as Queen and Wife, since Mother would not be one granted to her.

When the same symptoms began to appear again, Frigga ignored them. But when they once again became too persistent to further ignore, it was with a tight fear in her chest that she again obeyed her husband's request to see a healer.

This time, when she received the healer's verdict, she believed her right away. She somehow knew, deep inside, that it was true.

But she was afraid, oh, so afraid. Afraid she would lose this child as she had lost her first.

This time, it was she who wept when she delivered the news to Odin. Despite his reassurances that it would be alright, that this was a blessing and not a fear, she could not shake the worry that plagued her as constantly as the sickness and aches of her changing body.

It was not until she felt the child stir within her for the first time that the fear started to give way to joy. 

If any mother ever said pregnancy was an easy journey, Frigga was certain they were lying. But after nine months of pain, discomfort and exhaustion, it all came to an end.

In a blur of increased pain, discomfort and exhaustion.

Through the burning haze of pain, Frigga wished she could have taken back every time during the past months she pitied herself for her discomfort. She had thought she had known the meaning of pain.

She had never been more wrong in her entire life. 

But then it was over, and she found she could remember it little when her cries of pain gave way to the cries of a new life, of an infant sucking in precious breath for the first time.

Every grief-stricken moment, every night spent sleepless, every inconvenience brought from bearing a child, every birth pang and pain was suddenly forgotten, was suddenly worth it, when the midwife placed her loudly wailing son in her arms.

Thor was already a large child as an infant, and as Frigga stroked the blond, downy hair that covered his small head, she wondered that she had been able to carry him for so long without bursting.

But now she felt she would burst in another manner. In joy. In pride. In love.

Odin had not left her side during the delivery, and it was a smile of pride that he turned on his wife and newborn son as he carressed their child's head with one hand, and his wife's cheek in the other. Frigga had never doubted nor gave him reason to doubt her husband's love or devotion to her, nor hers to him. But now, she felt a renewed love, a renewed passion, a new sense that they were now inseperably bound together in the ties of parenthood.

It was not a bond either of them regretted. 

As the people had mourned for Baldr, they rejoiced all the more for Thor's healthy birth. Celebration for Asgard's new Prince lasted well over a week, but Frigga knew none of them, perhaps not even her husband, rejoiced as much as she did.

For she who had been through grief and sorrow, strife and destroying loss, had been granted a miracle, a blessing she had never thought possible.

She was a mother.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I still neither own this characters or a copy of _Thor_.

**A/N:** Whoops, I kind of forgot I had another part of this to put up. :P Sorry, everyone! Hope you enjoy, and reviews are always appreciated. :)

The uncertainty of war never failed to strike fear into Frigga's heart, no matter how powerful the one who waged it was.

After centuries of marriage to the Allfather, Frigga had no doubt in his might and strength. She kept a strong appearance and a clear head, for her people's and her son's sake, but the feeling was impossible to ignore completely.

They were at war.

She knew her husband tried to reassure her that everything would be fine, that he would be fine, that he would return soon. But still she worried. They had the upper hand in the war against Jotunheim, but all it would take was one fatal injury for her son to become fatherless.

Eventually, Frigga grew used to the tension that had quickly escalated to full-fledged war. She knew her husband would do everything in his power to return to her and their son.

That was all she had to hold on to.

When rumour came that Jotunheim was close to surrendering, Frigga thought little of it. But a week after, when she saw the light and dome of the Bifrost twist, she felt a flicker of bare, daring hope.

The Allfather – her husband – had returned.

She found herself running to the stables, where she swung up on a horse that she didn't allow the startled stablehand to take time to saddle. She galloped across the city, towards the rainbow bridge.

Possibilities that were too dreadful to consider ran through her mind, like weeds attempting to strangle the fragile, blossoming hope struggling within her heart. Possibilities that army returned without King, or with a body, or that he had failed and Jotunheim now reigned supreme.

That was why, when she saw the figure in the doorway of the Bifrost observatory, she nearly did not believe it.

Because Odin Allfather, King of the Nine Realms and of her heart, could not possibly have returned safely.

But he had.

Frigga nearly wept with joy as she slipped off her mount, running across the rainbow bridge towards him.

Her husband saw her immediately, and he came towards her with swift, long strides, meeting her halfway.

Her breath caught as she saw the bandages covering his right eye, but she was too relieved that he was here, he was alive, that they could be a family again, that they could possibly be alright – and this time she could believe it.

And then, when she looked down at a bundle held in his arms, she could see the bare bulge of a tiny limb pressing against the roughness of the fabric, accompanied by a pitiful wail.

Not sure what to think, she pulled back the cloth to reveal a tiny face. An infant's face, with wide eyes of emerald and the faintest traces of hair that would someday come in full ebony crowning his head.

Frigga had never doubted, nor gave him reason to doubt, her husband's devotion or faithfulness to her, nor hers to him. As Odin explained that the child was Laufey's , left abandoned to die in the cold and rock of a Jountar temple, she felt an inflamed pity, a sense of love and the sudden need to comfort the poor child.

Odin told her it was her choice, whether to take in the child themselves, or to offer him up to another Asgardian family. The choice was simple, really. The child, Loki, would be raised as a brother alongside Thor.

It was not a choice either of them regretted.

If anyone ever said motherhood was an easy journey, Frigga was certain they were lying, insane or confused.

But every worry-stricken moment, every night spent sleepless at an ill son's bedside, every inconvenience brought from rearing two children, every time she wanted to tear her hair out or dissolve into tears was worth it.

Her sons were the pride of Asgard. But no one loved them, hurt with them, felt more joy and pride for them as much as their mother did.

When a few centuries passed, Frigga looked forward with pride for Thor to ascend to the throne. But it did not happen.

Things went wrong – everything went wrong – and her secure life was suddenly unraveling around her. Her eldest son banished, her husband in a sleep from which he may never awaken, and her youngest son having discovered the truth behind his heritage feeling confused, betrayed and unloved.

It was one night, when the Frost Giants attacked, and Loki saved his father, only moments before Thor returned. For a minute, she thought her life had returned to its safe state of before.

But then, Thor pushed past her, and words, dark words were exchanged between her sons that she didn't understand. They fought, leaving the room. With a pain that was far too sharp in her heart, she gripped her unconscious husband's arm, whispering in fear that something was wrong, very, very wrong.

The Allfather awoke, he left her behind to wait in a panicked and desperate state.

He returned with their eldest son, and the news that Loki was no longer living.

Frigga thought she should have wept at the news, when Thor placed the cold, golden helm in her arms. But all she could feel was a numbness, a shock that seized her and refused to let go.

Loki's body was gone, fallen into the burning, whirling remnants of the destroyed Bifrost. He had let go, despite his grieving brother's desperate plea to hold on. But despite what he had done, he was a Prince of Asgard nonetheless, and he would be given a funeral proper for one.

Odin oversaw the ceremony that would have carried their son over the water, tears glinting in his eyes.

Frigga herself, could not quite believe it.

She watched with dull eyes as the ship that bore her son – who had been both her pride and joy, had made her laugh and cry, had brought light and darkness into her life – away from her.

The celebration that took place afterwards for the safe return of the son of Odin and the Allfather's awakening seemed wrong to her. The flames that burned along the walls of the feast hall flickered in echoing the hungry blaze that had devoured her son's funeral pyre. They should not have been rejoicing with tankards of ale, they should be mourning the loss of part of her heart.

She remained strong and composed long after the festivities had ended and the people dispersed.

She could not weep.

It was not until she was back in the refuge of her chambers, when she could let her illusion of composure fall did she let her true devastation over what had happened show.

She wept. Harder than she had before, harder than she had even over Baldr, until she knew her heart had broken with each shuddering, gasping sob that tore itself from her chest.

Where had she gone wrong? What had she done, or said, that had driven her son away from her, to the point of desperation that he would take his own life?

She could not stop.

For she was a mother who had lost a child.

Again.


End file.
